


if you and me and they between

by autoluminescence



Category: Glee
Genre: Exhibitionism, M/M, Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-28
Updated: 2012-04-28
Packaged: 2017-11-04 12:02:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/393633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autoluminescence/pseuds/autoluminescence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Date night takes a turn for the smutty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	if you and me and they between

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Sex of multiple varieties. Poorly researched assumptions about gay clubs. Disastrously constructed sentences. Toys. Above-board mild non-monogamy. An utter lack of plot or merit. Very mildly possessive behavior. Orgasm denial. Prose definitely tending towards purple-ness. Exhibitionism. Probably more glitter than is truly healthy.

New York City, 2018

Blaine _loves_ Kurt like this, naked and sprawled over their ( _their_ , he’s never getting tired of staying that) futon, already gasping and glowing and shoving down on the three fingers inside him. Kurt’s almost unbearably hot and smooth inside, satiny clasp clenching around Blaine in rhythmic grasps that he can almost feel echoes of on the back of his neck and inside his thighs, and for a moment, he’s tempted to scrap tonight’s plans entirely and keep the two of them here, safe and warm and together in the apartment all evening long.

“Are you sure about this?”

Kurt nods, so emphatically his head might fly off. “If you – _ahh, fuck_ – are.”

Well. A night out would do them good. 

Blaine slowly pulls his fingers out, entranced as Kurt’s body tries to follow them, clawing at the sheets in frustration and anticipation when he can’t. 

He should probably get used to the feeling. 

Grabbing the plug with one hand, Blaine starts working it into Kurt, tiny thrusts in and out timed to the kisses he sprinkles over panting lips and twitching muscles, each one pressing in a memory of their rules for tonight. 

_Don’t leave my sight._

_No one kisses you on the mouth but me._

_No one makes you come but me._

It’s in. They’re ready. 

…

Blaine gets showered and dressed while Kurt composes himself in their bedroom, breathing deep through his nose and willing himself to slowly inch down from the manic need coursing through his system. Every time he thinks he has a handle on himself, though, his body gives another spasm around the plug, pressing it into his prostate and jolting his erection back to life, pleasure shooting through his body. 

It’s hard and intrusive inside him, refusing to be forgotten or ignored. The physical … difficulties, he supposes … wouldn’t be so insurmountable if not for the apparent mental hijacking that came with it. Each breath that moved it inside him flooded his head with images – Blaine fucking him over their kitchen table last month, grip tight and ruthless on Kurt’s hip as he shook and sobbed and begged Blaine for _more harder now please_ ; shoving into Blaine’s mouth as he sucked him down after an eternity of teasing licks; riding Blaine furiously, entranced at tendons in his neck as he bowed back, messy curls a debauched halo on the pillow –

“Kurt.”

He – oh, _God_. He’d lost track of himself, spinning down into this insane rabbit hole of sensation, so close to the edge without even touching himself, writhing into air on their sheets. 

Blaine places a soothing hand on Kurt’s shoulder, rubbing his thumb over the knob of bone as he cried out softly, the smallest touch threatening to overload his already frayed nerves. 

“Hold on, Kurt. You can do this. Wait for us.” 

…

It took another hour and a cold shower to get Kurt dressed and out the door, complete with a pair of leather pants that might have been painted on, hugging his ass just tight enough that every shift and twist of muscle and tissue is nearly visible. Blaine’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head as Kurt explained with downcast eyes and high blush on his cheeks ( _the pressure – the restriction. I think it’ll hurt just enough to keep me in control_ ). 

The short subway ride to the club, though, proves somewhat more difficult than Blaine anticipated. 

Neither of them are terribly fond of PDA outside of their designated safe spots – even in New York, the sight of two men kissing isn’t exactly greeted with celebration each time – but this is absolutely the chance to make an exception. With each bump and jolt of the car, Kurt’s eyes flutter shut, long eyelashes brushing high cheekbones, his breath catching and hitching and grip on Blaine’s hand tightening to the point of pain. When they rumble into the second station stop, Kurt chokes out a nearly pornographic moan, long and low and _gorgeous_ , hips shifting mindlessly in small circles. 

There’s only one thing to be done. Blaine leans forward to capture his mouth, swallowing his groans and praying that their fellow passengers will find a bit of tongue less offensive than an X-rated soundtrack. 

(It’s not exactly a selfless gesture. Kurt’s mouth is his constant temptation – soft, full lips and slick pink tongue, the hot wet slip-slide-suck of tasting and needing and _claiming_.)

Blaine resists the urge to fist his fingers in Kurt’s hair – even under such extenuating circumstances, he’ll never forgive him for ruining his look when there is still time to see and be seen. He contents himself with returning Kurt’s grip on his hand and kissing deeply, drinking in his muffled shudders and whines and gasps until they reach their stop, both somewhat worse for wear as they stumble onto the platform and on their way. 

The club is already thrumming with the bass when they arrive, sweaty bodies moving in time to the beat. Blaine shoves the cover charge and their IDs at the bouncer (even at 25, Kurt is still carded virtually everywhere) and heads towards the dancefloor, Kurt a solid presence at his side. 

Blaine kisses him once, hands tight around his waist, sealing them together ( _I love you, stay close to me, I love you_ ) before spinning him away and stepping back slightly to watch. This may have been Kurt’s idea, tentatively spilled out over days and reassuring touches, but Blaine can’t deny the appeal. 

There’s glitter falling from the ceiling. It sticks everywhere as Kurt is slowly swallowed up by the mass of teeming bodies, a tall, brilliant line of liquid silver and moonlight moving sinuously among the writhing bodies on the dancefloor.

When he’s able to just _let go_ , there’s nothing like watching Kurt dance. It’s not often that he can release all the awkward self-consciousness, but stuffed so full of pleasure as he is (that _Blaine_ put there, and something hot sizzles down his spine), he’s suddenly languidly seductive, all smoldering hot eyes and overeager fingers and hips swaying to the beat. It’s no surprise that he attracts attention immediately, and without Blaine directly at his side, he’s fresh game. 

Blaine watches as hands stroke across Kurt’s hips, pulling him back until he’s flush against a tall stranger, back-to-front and grinding dirty with the beat. Another sidles up in front of them, scratching along Kurt’s arms, nuzzling into his neck, and Blaine’s cock jerks hard. 

There are more, and more, and soon he’s in the center of it all, surrounded, caught in the sway and the heat and the beat. 

Blaine watches.

…

Kurt’s so _warm_. And thrumming. And connected to everything – the callused fingers skating across his hipbone, the lips biting down his neck, the hard body along his back. It’s like he’s fully inhabiting his body, aware of every firing neuron and searing cell and experiencing every tiny dynamic shift. It’s way, way, way too much and not enough, and he tosses his head back on the shoulder behind him, groaning desperately, endlessly, every part of his body rushing with the electricity, hot and sparking from his aching cock and stretched-out ass and panting lips. 

There’s touch _everywhere_. He’s sandwiched between layers of anonymous men caressing over any bit of exposed skin, scratching and pinching and biting with random, shocking bursts. It’s so hard to breathe through the humidity and crush, so hard to hear through the constant, vibrating _thumpa thump_ , so hard to keep from shattering with pleasure. 

He’s helplessly rubbing up any body he can reach, moans tumbling from his lips with each rolling grind. (They love him, he can tell – using his body for their own pleasure, grabbing and twisting as they need him. It’s just making him hotter, being the object of all this desire. It’s intoxicating.). There’s nothing that exists in the world beyond the music and sweaty slide of bodies, each pulse of music making the plug quiver inside him, tearing him apart, and he’s lost in the dark and the heat.

The man behind him slides an arm around his waist, holding him firm as they roll together, hand slowly slipping down over his stomach and hips until, suddenly, he’s cupping Kurt, _thererightthere_. There are filthy words pouring into his ear ( _Christ, look at you, such a pretty one, wanna fuck my hand, want me to give it to you, c’mon_ ) and he’s shaking hard, thrusting forward into tight fingers and back until he can feel the hard line of the stranger’s cock against his ass, mouth dropping open in wordless pleasure. He can feel himself clenching spasmodically around the plug, and just one more press, and harder squeeze, _please_ \- 

Suddenly, the bodies around him are gone, pushed away by an unseen force. He nearly starts sobbing ( _so close so close_ ) before he’s gathered up by strong arms, staring at Blaine, hazel eyes gone blown and dark with desire. 

They’re kissing, sloppy and messy with it. Kurt’s a gasping, trembling mess in Blaine’s arms, unable to think through the heady bliss, much less pull together enough coordination to dance. Blaine has a thigh between his legs, thrusting up right where he needs, friction against his cock drawing him taut and vibrating on the edge of everything. He can’t wait any longer, can’t, so strung-out and desperate that he’s begging, screaming, _please need you love you pleasepleaseplease_ , grabbing Blaine’s shirt and pulling him closer until he can feel it under his skin.

“You’re … _fuck_ , Kurt. They’re all still looking at you. They want you, so beautiful and perfect, but they don’t know… mine” and suddenly Blaine’s hand is down his pants, gripping handfuls of his ass and then ( _yes_ ) pressing against the plug, tiny taps and pushes amplified a million-fold until each one sends a shock of lighting down his veins and he’s twitching uncontrollably with each new wave. 

Blaine’s watching him, carefully, hungrily, and he’s so _beautiful_ it breaks Kurt’s heart a little to see it. There are curls sticking to his forehead and sweat dripping down his neck, and it’s like he’s drawn by a magnet closer and closer until he’s licking into Blaine’s mouth, sucking on Blaine’s tongue and kissing, kissing like it’s air. 

Blaine wrenches his mouth away and his face looks absolutely wrecked with desire, rasping out, “Love you, _Kurt_ ,” and that’s it. 

He’s on fire, falling apart against Blaine’s body as his orgasm fills him up and crashes him back down, pounded by wave after wave of pleasure, keening moans swallowed up by the earsplitting music. It’s never been like this before, pressure of the plug drawing out every last bit of pleasure he has, like he’s coming endlessly, buffeted by Blaine’s arms, still tight and close around him. 

It takes a long, long time to come down; the aftershocks keep coming until his nerves are oversaturated and he’s sagging against Blaine, fine tremors in his hands and calves subsiding slowly. 

He comes into himself just enough to feel Blaine murmuring nonsense into the crook of his neck, brain struggling to translate the sensation of stuttering hot breath into anything intelligible. 

It doesn’t matter, though, because Blaine nuzzles away and looks up at Kurt from underneath those devastating lashes and he’s still hard against Kurt’s hip, and oh, this isn’t over yet. 

He grabs Blaine’s hand and starts leading him away from the dancefloor, wobbly-kneed and tripping a little over his own feet in the afterglow. Each step is a reminder of the plug still inside of him, little nudging bits of pleasure keeping him floating on a cloud of endorphins.

There are bits of sparkle everywhere, and it doesn’t matter if it’s from the glitter or some sort of crazed output from his orgasm-rattled mind. Kurt’s _giddy_ , nearly laughing out loud from the joy of it, because everything is gorgeous, because they’re young and alive, and he’s brimming over because he _gets to have this_ , beauty and life and _Blaine_. 

…

Blaine has no earthly idea where Kurt is so determinedly dragging him. It doesn’t matter, really, so long as it’s somewhere he can alleviate this bone-deep ache that’s been building in him since they left the apartment and has just been amplified a thousand-fold since feeling Kurt shudder apart against him. 

It’s not quite right. He’s the one who should be driving Kurt crazy and needful, but instead, he watches as Kurt gives a little skip of happiness in front of him, and Blaine’s temperature ratchets up a few more degrees. 

He’s spun around through a doorway and, before he can even register the sinks and porcelain lining the walls, Kurt’s pushing him into a stall and emphatically latching the lock behind them. 

“Best. Date. Ever,” and Kurt’s punctuating each word with a kiss down Blaine’s jaw, pressing against the door until they’re so close that he has to be able to feel how every bit of Blaine is quivering and tensing with need. 

Kurt draws his head back just slightly until their foreheads are resting together, breath mingling between them. “Thank you. Thank you for doing this, I love you, _thank you_ ” and Blaine wants to correct him, laugh out loud at the idea that this was some sort of sacrifice on his part, but before he gets the chance, Kurt’s falling to his knees on this sticky bathroom floor and nuzzling his face into Blaine’s crotch. 

Blaine’s been so hard his _skin_ aches since Kurt started dancing into the crowd, and for a moment it’s unbearably tempting (he could just fuck into Kurt’s mouth, hot and wet, swollen shiny pink lips stretched around him and throat working, and Kurt would just moan and take it and swallow around him), but it’s not what he needs right now. 

He needs Kurt, needs to know he still has something those greedy roving hands don’t.

“No, Kurt, not like that,” and Kurt’s glancing, puzzled, up through his lashes, “I. _Please_ , just. Fuck me,” reedy and thin, like it’s takes all he has just to push the words out. 

“Are you – really?,” giddy edge to Kurt’s voice reappearing. “ _Here_? Do we even have-“ before he’s cut off by Blaine fishing into his pockets and pointedly throwing a condom and a small tube of lube at his face.

“Be prepared. Best lesson I ever learned as a cub scout.”

“You were never a cub scout.”

“I could have been a cub scout. You don’t know _everything_ about me.” 

The glint in Kurt’s eyes should probably be more concerning. “Is that so?,” as he clambers to his feet and tucks his hands behind Blaine’s head, pulling him closer. “Care to test that theory?” 

Blaine’s about to scoff and roll his eyes, but Kurt’s running his nails down the length of Blaine’s neck, up to behind his ears and down over his shoulders, hard enough to teeter on the edge of pain, and Blaine’s body suddenly goes pliant and open. 

“You were saying?” There is, really, no need to sound so smug. 

Except maybe there is because he has his fingers rubbing over that supersensitive angle right under his jaw in the way that makes Blaine just melt into putty. “Yes, _yes_ , you win, fine, boy scouts are dumb, _please_ , now.”

Kurt shushes him with tiny pecks over his lips and across his jawline before dragging his mouth up to Blaine’s ear, leaving pointed sparks in its wake. 

“Turn around,” and it’s barely a breath, but Blaine scrambles to obey, spinning around so quickly he almost stumbles and bracing himself against the stall divider. 

Kurt is almost immediately pressed up behind him, hooking his chin over Blaine’s shoulder and sliding an arm around Blaine’s waist and, _oh_ , fingers creeping down to cup over his crotch, heel of his hand running up and down until Blaine starts whimpering and shaking. 

Kurt’s mouthing at the side of Blaine’s neck, sucking in enough slightly stubbly skin that Blaine’s surely going to have marks to show for it tomorrow, and it shoots like lightning straight to his gut; Kurt might get off on the attention of the men outside that door (and if the evidence in his pants is anything to go by, it looks like Blaine gets off on that, too), but _Blaine_ is _Kurt’s_ , signed, sealed, and delivered. 

His pants are, without warning, suddenly unzipped and shoved down until they pool around his ankles, open humid air twisting around his cock until he’s bucking up into nothing. 

Blaine can feel the begging pleads claw its way up from his throat ( _something, anything, please_ ), but before it gets a chance to spill out, Kurt’s gripping his hip tight enough to bruise and rubbing a lubed finger over his crack and in. 

It’s hardly more than the barest press, and Blaine tries to fuck himself back on it, _more Kurt fill me up_ , but Kurt’s hand is strong enough to keep him immobile, caught. 

“I could feel it the whole time, you know,” It’s casual enough that Kurt might as well be commenting on the weather. “Still. It’s like… you, in me, like a tether,” and Kurt’s cool, steady voice wavers and breaks and he gasps into Blaine’s neck and starts corkscrewing his finger deeper. Blaine’s still held tight, only taking what Kurt chooses to give him, shuddering uselessly against the push that isn’t nearly, _nearly_ enough. 

“Another one, _please_ , Kurt.”

Kurt’s regained his composure enough that he just chuckles, amused. “No.”

There are tears prickling at the corner of Blaine’s eyes when Kurt brings his mouth directly against Blaine’s ear, breath ghosting along his skin. “Turn-about’s fair play, I suppose,” because his boyfriend is _evil_. “You have no idea what you did to me, what you’re _doing_ , it’s like every breath is just –“, and Kurt crooks his finger sharply _up_ and Blaine nearly crumples to the ground from the sudden burst of pleasure. “I could feel you the whole time,” words dripping down Blaine’s spine like a caress. He bucks up, whining desperately and he must have done something right because Kurt _finally, fuck_ adds another finger. 

The friction inside him morphs from a smooth slide to a rough grind, but Blaine’s body takes it all in greedily, opening and enfolding as Kurt spreads his fingers wide. He’s unlocked and undone and he thinks, deliriously, that Kurt’s managing to stroke his _heart_ , and Blaine _needs it right now._

And Kurt gives it to him, fingers twisting out, leaving Blaine achingly empty and clamping down on nothing before he hears the small sound of foil ripping open, and then Kurt’s finally lining himself up behind him and sliding, torturously slowly, _in_. 

They’ve been doing this for 6 years, and Blaine’s still not sure why this makes him feel so _cherished_ , spread out beneath Kurt, hearing his breath go ragged, slow hip rolls morphing into something sharper until Kurt’s squeezed and morphed each one of Blaine’s molecules into pinpricks of _want_. 

It’s almost more intense than when they’re in bed together, the angle of their hips slotting together until every thrust and rock hits Blaine _perfectly_ until it’s all he can do to gasp and keen and keep from spinning apart from the force of molten bliss. Kurt’s nailing him hard and fast, shocking the breath out of him, slamming him forward as his hands scramble at the wall and he screams, and he’s sure he can hear other people in the bathroom, they’re _in a public place, god_ , but he couldn’t care less, let them hear, everyone should know, he wants to sing odes about their love in every shopping mall in America, he wants to paint it on every building in Times Square. 

He brings one hand down to grope himself, and he’s not going to last, he’s already so close, wavering on the edge of the fall, but he can feel Kurt, right there with him, in him, together, panting-straining-almost- _there_ -

Blaine’s body clenches down _hard_ and shoves one more time into his fist and before he’s engulfed, orgasm ripping though him until he’s seizing up everywhere, pounded into the wall by the sheer force of pleasure. There’s a roaring in his ears and he _can’t breathe_ , gaping for oxygen and wracked by tremors until he’s wrung out and limp, wet and twitching spasmodically on Kurt’s cock.

When he surfaces, Kurt’s draped over him, dead weight nearly crushing him into the divider. 

“Mmmm, Kurt – c’mon, Kurt, ow, your elbow does not belong in my diaphragm.”

“But I’m … so _comfortable_ ,” and Kurt manages to nuzzle his way into Blaine’s neck, sighing against him. “Never wanna leave.”

“We’re in a bathroom. A _bathroom_.”

Kurt groans in acknowledgement and starts working his way out, leaving Blaine empty and bereft and starting to shiver from the air on his sweating neck. He sighs and starts working his pants back up, putting himself together again after Kurt so effectively tore him apart. 

“Um. Blaine?” Kurt’s voice is hesitant behind him. “Can you take it out?” 

“Wha – oh. Oh, yeah, yeah, just turn around.” Blaine braces himself with one hand on Kurt’s shoulder and tugs the plug out in one swift motion, leaving Kurt gasping slightly in shock. Blaine can’t quite help himself – he dips one finger into where Kurt’s so hot and open, and for a second he considers keeping them both locked in this stall until they die of too much sex or old age, whichever came first. 

“What did it feel like?” Blaine’s still gently tracing one finger over Kurt’s ass. 

“Like you.” It’s completely guileless, and it should be ridiculous – Blaine hopes to god that he doesn’t actually resemble a silicon mold – but it’s still, bizarrely, perfect. The other men, or the toys, or this tacky, sticky floor all just seem like a natural extension of how they fit together. All of it – it’s just _them_. 

Blaine flops his head onto Kurt’s shoulder. “We should probably head home.” He starts tugging Kurt’s pants up – _how_ did he get them on in the first place without Crisco, dear _god_ – and smoothing out his shirt. 

Kurt looks like he’s contemplating staging a formal sit-in to keep them there indefinitely, but he just sighs and grabs Blaine’s hand. “Onwards and upward?”

Blaine grins and leads him out, back onto the dancefloor, through the glitter and out into the night.


End file.
